


Strangers & Angels

by mrs_d



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:10:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All I could see was the gun. I reached for my purse, and that's when the angel appeared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangers & Angels

I didn’t realize how Canadian I was until I moved to Chicago. There, I jogged every morning, went for long walks in the evenings, and smiled at strangers, the same as I would at home. But people didn’t smile back or say good morning in Chicago like they would in Regina.

My American colleagues found it strange that I found this strange.

“Believing that strangers are nice will get you into trouble here,” said Jill from Accounting.

“You’re a Canadian idealist,” added Helen.

And maybe I am. Because I sure as hell didn’t expect it when, one night, the guy strolling ahead of me on the park trail turned around and pulled a gun on me.

“This ain’t personal,” the man said from behind his giant sunglasses. “You seem like a nice lady. But I need your money more than you do. So you just give me your purse and your jewelry, and I won’t shoot you. Okay, sweetheart?”

Time seemed to slow down. I swallowed, tasting bile. All I could see was the gun. I reached for my purse, and that's when the angel appeared.

My first thought was that I’d met him once before, when I was camping, and I got lost. I don’t know how long I was in the woods, but it felt like forever — I could hear animals in the trees, and I started thinking that maybe they were as hungry as I was. Then he stepped up out of nowhere, wearing a bright blue rain coat. He led me to the campground, and when I looked back minute later, he was gone. I’m not saying that he was a real angel. But he showed up when I needed rescuing, and disappeared once I was okay.

And here he was again. But this time he had a bright red tunic under a navy blue coat. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and brown riding boots. This time, he was a Mountie.

“Why don’t you put the gun down, sir,” he said calmly.

The thief turned, and I knelt on the ground. Now he had the gun trained on my angel, but the Mountie didn’t look the least bit concerned.

“Who are you, Dudley Do-Right?”

“No, sir. My name is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police,” said the Mountie, and he started a lengthy spiel. Something about the killers of his father. I was too busy fearing for my life to pay much attention.

Plus there were motorcycle boots coming towards me. I looked up, way up, to see another guy with a gun. The Mountie was still talking, and I couldn’t figure out why he’d save me from one lunatic only to watch me get shot by another.

Then the guy with the boots crouched down, and I almost screamed because the gun was so close to my face I could smell it. (I didn’t even know guns had a smell.) It took me a few seconds to realize that he was showing me a badge, that he was an angel too. I nodded. He touched my shoulder gently, then stood up in a fluid motion and pressed the barrel of his gun to the back of the thief’s neck. The thief twitched with surprise, and absurdly, I wondered if it was because the metal was cold.

“Chicago PD, drop the weapon,” the tall man said in a steady voice.

The thief raised his hands. The Mountie disarmed him, and the blonde Chicago cop twisted the thief’s arms behind his back and cuffed him, reciting the Miranda rights as he did so.

Meanwhile I put my head down and focused on just breathing. Then the Mountie’s face was inches from mine, and I wondered if he'd been this pretty the last time he saved me. Then I had the ridiculous idea that if all Mounties looked like him, I should move back to Canada as soon as possible, and I started giggling and couldn't stop.

“Is she all right?” asked the cop.

Then I was crying. “Apparently not,” I managed to whisper.

The Mountie smiled a little and handed me a white handkerchief. “You’re safe now. Do you think you can stand?”

I took a deep breath and nodded. He helped me to my feet, which were a bit wobbly, and handed me my purse. My wallet fell out, and my cards clattered to the ground. The Mountie apologized and bent down to collect them while the police officer made a soft sound of impatience.

When I reached out my hand for the cards he’d gathered up, the Mountie stopped, looking closely at my driver’s licence. I had a moment of irrational panic, like he was going to write me a ticket or something, but then he looked up and beamed as he handed it over.

“Thank you,” I said. “For rescuing me.”

“Hey, no problem,” called the cop from over his shoulder. He was leading the thief away through the park. “Sometimes we all need a little rescuing, right, Fraser?”

The Mountie cleared his throat and gestured that we should get moving as well. “Have you been here long?” he asked me quietly, letting the cop get ahead of us.

“No,” I answered. “A few months. So I’m not used to guns.” I tried to laugh, but it didn’t work.

He nodded, looking sympathetic, then he led me to the street, where the Chicago cop was leaning against one of the coolest cars I had ever seen. Now that my panic had faded a little, I took him in: long legs in faded jeans, leather jacket over a tight shirt, gun and badge peeking out from under the lapel.

“Ray, this is Sandra Fern. Sandra, this is my partner, Detective Raymond Vecchio.”

“Sandra, you good?” the detective said to me, and when I nodded, he looked to the Mountie. “Blue and white’s on the way. Dief’s got an eye on him in the back for now.”

“Good,” said the Mountie, as if this bizarre statement made some kind of sense. He moved around me to stand closer to his partner. Like, almost touching closer. They made quite a pair. My still-numb brain concluded that I’d been rescued by two of the most attractive men in all of Chicago. I wondered if my mother would be proud.

I suddenly noticed the cop was staring at me expectantly. He had asked me a question.

“I beg your pardon, Detective. Can you please repeat that?”

He blinked a couple times, and then turned to the Mountie. “Canadian?”

The Mountie gave him a big grin, like Christmas had come early or something. “Yes, Ray.”

The detective grinned back, and I could almost taste the chemistry between them. Damn, I thought vaguely. Nothing to tell my mother, after all.

After that night, the Mountie and his partner were gone from my life; they’d showed up when I needed rescuing and disappeared once I was okay. But a few months later, I took advantage of an opportunity to move back to Canada when my employers expanded to a Vancouver office, and a little while after that, Rhonda from HR burst into the lunch room with a newspaper, asking me if I’d heard anything about a nuclear sub in the Arctic. I hadn’t, but there were my angels in the picture, smiling at one another instead of the camera.

I got the impression they’d rescued each other.


End file.
